


every part of you

by Anonymous



Series: Jimmy/Stan fics [1]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Prostitution (briefly mentioned and non-explicit), Safe Sane and Consensual, sweet and gentle lovin' because that's what they deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 08:10:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19942951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Stan--spread out on Jimmy’s bed, blonde hair mussed, smiling--is something that Jimmy didn’t think he’d get to see if he lived a million years.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here.  
> Enjoy. xx

Stan’s brain works like the mutable qualities of water. Like an ice cube in a glass of lemonade, melting slowly until all of it finally dissolves.

It’s a picturesque day at the park. Sun hot and bright, white clouds puffed across the clear blue sky. It rained last week, and now the trees are bright green, leaves fat with water and warmth. The summer breeze smells like heat and sunblock, and burnt rubber on asphalt. 

Jimmy and Stan are both sweaty and greasy--they’ve just finished up a series of water deliveries, and parked Stan’s van under the shade of a large oak tree. They’ve got the back doors of the van popped open, and they’re sitting on the edge. Jimmy’s eating the last of his fries from the burger joint they just stopped at, when suddenly Stan exclaims, “OH.” 

Jimmy barely bats an eye. He’s used to Stan having random epiphanies at this point. 

“Mmhmm?” Jimmy says, sucking on his straw. The last of his milkshake is still a little frozen at the bottom. He pops the lid off impatiently, pulling the straw out so he can suck at the bottom end of it and get rid of the strawberry chunk clogging the whole thing. 

“Jimmy...I, I have something I need to tell you, hah,” Stan says, followed up by one of his strange, nervous half-chuckles. 

“Mmhmm,” Jimmy says absently. Goddamn _milkshakes_ and tiny ass straws make his life harder than it needs to be. 

“Jimmy...I think, uh. I think. I want to have sex with you.”

Jimmy chokes, strawberry going down the wrong hatch—eyes watering as Stan panics. 

“Oh God, did I, Jimmy, did I just kill you?? Are you okay, do you need water, oh God!” Stan exclaims, thumping Jimmy on the back so hard that he almost smacks Jimmy onto the gravel. 

“STAN,” Jimmy gasps, when he’s finally got his breath back, “you can’t, you can’t just SAY things like that!” 

The rest of his milkshake has tumbled to the ground, leaking out on the blacktop. Jimmy can’t even be properly sad about it because Stan just _asked to have sex with him._ Jimmy thinks that maybe he’s slipped into an alternate dimension. Or maybe he’s hallucinating. Wouldn’t be the first time. But he’s been sober for weeks.

But maybe Stan isn’t. _When was the last time he took oxy?_

“Sorry, Jimmy, I mean uh, Friendly, I just--I thought, well, you know that one time I asked you about the hot dogs? I thought, why would I ask _you_ when I could ask Brenda…” 

Jimmy blinks. He getting whiplash from everything Stan’s saying. 

“Oh. So...you. Uh. Asked Brenda...to “help you” with...your “hot dog?”” Jimmy says uncertainly. 

Because. 

He’d be happy for Stan if that was the case. Out of all the people they’ve encountered in Los Santos, Brenda seems like one of the more responsible ones, someone who would be very instructive and helpful during sex, but...Jimmy still feels a little crestfallen. 

“Well, kind of! We went to the grocery store and got some frozen hot dogs. Brenda said they had to be frozen because “hot dogs aren’t usually hard, but frozen ones are.” And then we went back to my place, and--”

“Wait. Like. You bought _literal_ hot dogs? Or…”

“Yes, aren’t you listening to me Jimmy?” Stan says, impatiently, “we bought frozen hot dogs, and then went back to my apartment--” 

“--whoa whoa whoa, Stan! I don’t need to hear this, whatever kinky hot dog things you do, that’s _private_ between you and Brenda--”

“--and THEN she took the hot dogs out and--”

Jimmy reaches over and claps a hand over Stan’s mouth because _oh my god_ he _really_ doesn’t want to know. Stan’s lips are surprisingly soft against the heel of Jimmy’s palm. He tries not to think about it.

“Staniel, listen to me. Whatever...whatever weird things you guys did to the hot dogs, I _don’t want to know._ Okay?? Nod if you understand me,” Jimmy says. 

Stan mumbles something indignant behind Jimmy’s hand, looking peeved. Jimmy reluctantly removes his hand. 

“Jimmy, if you would just LISTEN to me, I was GOING to say...that Brenda pulled out TWO hot dogs and--” 

“LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU, I CAN’T HEAR YOU,” Jimmy yells, clapping his hands over his ears. 

He makes a beeline for the car, and when Stan finally catches up to him, red in the face from running, they both mutually decide to drop the topic. 

\---

Two days later, he gets a text from Brenda. 

Jimmy hasn’t seen Stan since The Incident at the Park, which is how he’s referring to it now. It’s a little weird that he hasn’t seen or heard from Stan in two days, but not completely out of the norm. 

They're both busy people. Stan’s probably been delivering water, or visiting Roy or something. 

And Jimmy _definitely_ hasn’t spent the last two days moping around. Nope, not at all. It’s totally normal for him to lie in bed for most of the day rolling around feeling forlorn.

So, it’s weird when Jimmy opens the text from Brenda, and it’s just five angry face emojis. 

**Jimmy** : ????

 **Brenda** : did u fucking break Stan’s heart or what

 **Jimmy** : ????????? wat are u talking about

 **Brenda** : i’m w/ stan right now and he’s crying

Jimmy’s chest fills with ice. He texts back quickly--

 **Jimmy** : what happened?? is he okay??

 **Brenda** : he’s fine, except he’s whining. and he keeps drinking water to replenish his tears. And then he needs to pee. he’s going to break my toilet if he keeps flushing it. and he also punched a hole in my wall. 

**Jimmy:** jesus...what happened?

 **Brenda:** how should i know, i’m asking YOU! 

**Jimmy:** where are you, i’ll be right over

 **Brenda:** i don’t think that’s a good idea. he said, and i quote “Jimmy didn’t want the hot dog”. which, as I explained to Stan, that’s perfectly reasonable, and that’s good that he asked for consent. and you’re allowed to say no. but next time, let him down a little easier, okay?

Jimmy has to sit down on his couch, so that he doesn’t keel over. He feels like an actor that’s just walked onto a stage without knowing any of his lines. Before he can think twice, he calls Brenda. 

She picks up after two rings. 

“What is it,” Brenda says flatly. In the background, Jimmy can hear someone wailing and lamenting incomprehensibly. It sounds like Stan. 

“What the hell’s going on? Did you upset him?” Jimmy demands. And he’s trying not to sound accusatory, he really is, but if Brenda’s been the one having sex with Stan, and now Stan’s upset--

“No, he’s upset over YOU, dumbass,” Brenda says, exasperated and annoyed.

“Is that Jimmy? Are you talking to Jimmy?” Stan’s voice, muffled in the background, whines. 

“Put Stan on the phone,” Jimmy tells Brenda. 

“He doesn’t wanna talk to you right now.”

“Well, can you at least tell me what I did wrong?? He said,” Jimmy clears his throat, lowering his voice a little. Which is silly, since he’s on the phone, and it’s not like Stan can hear what he’s saying, unless Brenda’s got him on speaker, “he said that you...he said you “showed him with hot dogs.” Which, I’m assuming, means you guys...you know, _did it_ ? And then he asked to have sex with me, and I said no. Because, I don’t want to be like. The mistress. Or...mister? Whatever, you know what I mean. I don’t wanna be the...the...the _other_.” 

Silence on the other end of the line. 

Jimmy grips his phone harder. 

“You’re an idiot,” Brenda hisses, and then the line goes dead. 

“What?!” Jimmy yells, into his disconnected phone. 

He tries to call her back, but it goes straight to voicemail.

And then, a few seconds later, there’s a new text from Brenda. 

**Brenda:** where are you rn. 

**Jimmy:** my apartment. can u please pick up the phone and tell me what’s going on w Stan. 

**Brenda:** we’re on our way. don’t move. 

\---

Jimmy hears before he sees Stan’s water delivery van. That jalopy’s muffler isn’t worth shit, and roars louder than a lion in heat. 

Jimmy watches it pull into the small parking lot of his apartment complex. Brenda hops out of the passenger side, slamming the door, her face like thunder. 

Jimmy squints, barely able to make out Stan’s face through the tinted driver’s window. But he hasn’t made a motion to get out of the car. Which isn't a good sign because Stan always says hi to him. And if he’s hiding out in his car instead of coming to say hi, then there’s something very wrong. 

Jimmy opens his door as Brenda stalks up to it. 

“Brenda, what is--”

“Let’s talk inside,” she mutters, brushing past Jimmy into his apartment. Jimmy shuts the door behind her. 

“Look, I don’t appreciate you busting in here without telling me what’s going on,” Jimmy says, annoyed. He doesn't like having strangers in his personal space. And even though Brenda isn't a complete stranger, it still feels a little invasive that she's here, especially given her current attitude. 

Brenda sweeps over to his tiny couch and points at it.

“Sit down, Jimmy. We need to talk.” 

Jimmy sits. Reluctantly. 

“A few days ago, Stan asked me about sex. I took him to the grocery store, and we got hot dogs--” Brenda holds up a hand to silence Jimmy as he opens his mouth to retort. Jimmy bites his tongue.

“We got hot dogs so I could DEMONSTRATE,” Brenda continues, “for demonstration ONLY. If I’m allowed to say so myself, I thought it was very informative. And he appreciated me taking the time.” 

“...and then you guys had?...” Jimmy asks, hesitantly. 

“No! God! I demonstrated sex with frozen hot dogs. And then, he said ‘oh’ and said that he was going to ask you to have sex with him,” Brenda says, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

Jimmy slumps back into the couch, dazed. Still trying to wrap his mind around everything that Brenda’s just said. 

“Wait, so. So, you didn’t have sex with Stan.” 

“No,” Brenda says flatly. 

“And. So. He...he asked if I wanted to have sex with him. Because. He actually _wants_ to have sex with me??” 

Brenda rolls her eyes. 

“I swear to God, I don’t know if you or Stan is the bigger idiot, it’s like his brain has been replaced with water and yours has been replaced with, I dunno, cigarette smoke or something.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, looking so much like a put-out teacher that Jimmy can’t help but feel stupid, like a failing student who just can’t seem to figure out the right answers.

“Fuck,” Jimmy says, strained. Stan asked if he wanted to have sex _. And meant it._

And Jimmy said no. 

“I'm...I’m an idiot,” Jimmy says, weakly. 

“Yep,” Brenda agrees. 

\---

They don’t talk about it. 

\---

Jimmy sees Stan the next day, and they deliver water together, and it’s almost like they’re back to their normal, regular selves, except there’s a strange tension there now. 

Not a bad tension. Just an unresolved tension. 

For one, Stan suddenly seems unreasonably strong. Were his forearms always that thick? Were his eyes always that blue? 

Stan sets down the case of water, sweating through his shirt, and the sight of him, flushed and sweating, _does_ something to Jimmy.

When Stan catches Jimmy staring, they both look away, embarrassed. Or maybe that’s just the heat of the afternoon. 

Either way, Jimmy realizes in that moment that he’s screwed.

\---

It’s evening when they finally finish all their deliveries and head back to Jimmy’s apartment. It’s a bit of a ritual they have. Around this time, they’ll either start getting ready for Jimmy’s drug deliveries, or Jimmy will start getting ready on his own to take clients. 

But it’s been a long day, and when they finally pull into Jimmy’s apartment complex, he’s sore and tired to the bone. He has no idea how Stan manages to lift water day in and day out every day of the week without feeling run down. 

“You’re not working tonight, are you?” Stan says, tinged with worry. 

“Nah, I think we made enough today to tide me over,” Jimmy says, unbuckling his seatbelt. The evening breeze coming in through the car window feels nice against his skin. 

It’s nighttime, stars winking their way into the sky. When Jimmy first came to Los Santos he loved cruising around on nights like these, windows down, driving fast along the freeway by the coast. He can't remember the last time he did something like that. 

“Good,” Stan says, and he looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Stan takes his keys out of the ignition, and the car rumbles into silence. 

Without the sound of the radio, it’s quiet. Just their breathing, and the ever-present background noise of traffic in the near distance. The hush and whisper of crickets in the wispy grass growing between the cracks of the sidewalk.

“Yeah,” Jimmy says. Because it _is_ a good thing. Sometimes it's hard to remind himself that he deserves breaks, that he deserves to have a relaxing night to himself every now and then. He’s an introvert by nature, though it’s not conducive to either line of work he’s in. 

Stan’s staring at him with a curious look on his face. Like Jimmy’s a puzzle with too many odd shaped pieces. 

Jimmy’s not used to seeing Stan this thoughtful; Stan tends to word-vomit whatever’s on his mind. In a strange way, it’s refreshing. People who say what’s on their minds don’t play mind games. Jimmy hates people who try and fuck with his head.

“So uh. I guess I’ll...be seeing you around?” Jimmy says. Even though he doesn't want to be alone. Even though he could sit in this car for the next three hours in silence with Stan, and be content. Even though, in the dim half-light from the yellow glow of the street lamp outside, Jimmy really, really wants to lean over and kiss him.

The dark throws strange shadows on Stan’s face. It makes him look different, gives the cut of his cheekbones a stronger edge at the same time that it makes his blue eyes darker. For some reason, it makes Jimmy’s mouth go dry. Or maybe it’s just because he’s dehydrated.

“Sure...I’ll see you around, Jimmy,” Stan says, laughing one of his strange, nervous laughs. 

“Everything okay, pal?” Jimmy asks. Because Stan seems...pensive. Subdued. Which is strange, because usually he's the exact opposite.

“Uh huh,” Stan says. Around them, the sounds of night swell. People calling out to each other, climbing into ubers, getting ready for a night out. Cars honking, neon lights blinking. This damn city never sleeps. 

“You sure? Because...it doesn’t sound like everything’s okay.” 

There’s a pause then, like Stan is weighing honesty with modesty and it’s really starting to freak Jimmy out. 

“Just...Staniel. Just tell me,” Jimmy says, and hopes that he doesn’t sound too desperate. He normally doesn’t care about what other people think about him; he’s used to a lifetime of ignoring other people’s judgments and opinions about him (he’s a drug dealer--he’s gotten good at it), but he doesn’t think he could stand it if Stan was mad at him. 

Stan doesn’t _look_ mad, he just looks nervous.

“Jimmy...Friendly J...can I--uh. Can I ask you something?”

In the silence of the car, the question feels loaded. 

“Yes,” Jimmy stutters. He feels so fucking _anxious_ , but mostly he just wants whatever this strange tension between them is to be over, and for things to go back to the way they were. 

“Do you, uh...well, I talked to Brenda a few nights ago. And, and she told me that it’s okay for you to...she told me that even though I really want...,” Stan stutters. His hands are gripped tight around the steering wheel.

“Do you wanna come in?” Jimmy blurts, because he can't stand how awkward things are getting, and inviting Stan in seems better than shaking him by the shoulders and asking him _tell me what you mean._ There are some things Jimmy doesn’t understand about Stan, but if there’s one thing he does know, it’s that he’s a man of action, and not words. Jimmy’s the same way. And he thinks he knows what Stan’s trying to say, but he also knows that neither of them can talk about this while they’re sitting in a parking lot.

“To...to your uh, apartment?” Stan says. 

“Yeah. If you want to, you don’t have to. If you don’t...want to,” Jimmy says, and he hopes Stan doesn’t notice the embarrassing quake in his voice. 

“Sure, okay, yeah, sure,” Stan says, after a moment, and unbuckles his seatbelt.


	2. Chapter 2

Stan sitting on his couch isn’t weird. Usually. 

They’ve hung out in Jimmy’s apartment before, but never for long. Usually as a pit-stop for Jimmy to pick up some lock-picks, or for Stan to pee. Once, Stan took too many oxys and Jimmy had to drag his loopy ass to the couch where he slept it off. 

But this time, everything feels different. The strange tension is there, for one. And for another, it’s nearly midnight, and this time, there’s no real excuse for Stan to be here. It’s not a pit-stop, it’s _the_ stop. And Jimmy doesn’t know what to think about that. 

“You uh, want some. Some tea, or something?” Jimmy stutters. Because he’s pretty sure Stan would say no to a beer; he’d probably lecture Jimmy about how alcohol dehydrates the body. 

“Just some water,” Stan says, a little disdainfully. 

_Of course._

“Yeah, sure,” Jimmy says, going to the kitchen. He fetches one of Stan’s water bottles from the fridge, and grabs one for himself too. They're icy cold to the touch. 

“Thanks,” Stan says, when Jimmy hands one of the bottles to him. And then he downs the entire bottle in one long impressive gulp. 

Jimmy blinks, watching Stan’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He should probably be used to seeing Stan shotgun a water bottle by now, but it’s still surprising every time he does it. No wonder he needs to pee constantly. 

“So...uh,” Jimmy says, cracking his own water bottle open to take a sip. 

“I’m sorry I asked you to have sex with me,” Stan blurts out, so suddenly that Jimmy startles. 

“OH, UMM,” Jimmy exclaims, his water bottle tumbling out of his hands. And he knows, he _knows_ he should have been expecting this, but it still hurts to hear Stan say that he thought it was a mistake to ask Jimmy to have sex. 

“It’s...it’s okay,” Jimmy stutters out, bending down to pick up his water bottle. It’s leaked out onto the carpet, water darkening the beige to a taupe. His throat feels unbelievably dry. 

“I...I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. And, you, and you said _no,_ which is okay! But, I just, I thought...I never wanted to make things weird...I just thought—I...maybe you felt the way I felt...I’m sorry,” Stan laments, and he sounds baleful, but Jimmy’s brain is still stuck on the part where Stan said he wanted to have sex with him. And that, Stan was _upset_ that Jimmy said no. _Which, in theory, would mean..._

“No, aw Stan. No, don’t feel bad,” Jimmy says quickly, “I, uh. Just, wasn’t prepared. And I didn’t think you were, um! Serious or anything. I thought you, and Brenda had, you know,” Jimmy stutters. And he knows he’s not making any sense, but neither is anything right now. 

“No, Brenda and I, we, no. We, she was just, showing me an _example--”_

“Right, right, she told me,” Jimmy cuts in quickly. Stan falls silent. 

It’s an awkward silence. Jimmy realizes that he’s standing and Stan’s sitting on the couch, and that feels awkward too, so he goes over and sits on the couch next to Stan.

Stan’s close enough to touch. 

Jimmy clears his throat. 

“Well, um. For the record, Stan, I, uh. If I’d known you were serious, I...maybe I woulda ...said yes, or something, I dunno,” Jimmy says, before the filter between his brain and mouth can work properly. He snaps his mouth shut, face heating up like a goddamn oven. _Fuck. You went and made it weird again, you idiot._

But. 

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. Of course he has. 

Stan wears a fanny pack, dresses like a mall cop, and has all the come-hither attractiveness of an oak tree, but he’s surprisingly well-built and disarmingly charming in his naivety, and maybe it’s a proximity crush, or maybe it’s something more. 

All Jimmy knows is that he’s never felt more comfortable being alone with someone in his entire life. And that’s gotta mean _something_ , right? 

Stan’s blushing, red spreading high up on his pale cheeks, and he’s blinking fast and breathing fast. 

“Are...you okay?” Jimmy barely manages to say, his voice all sorts of strangled. Because oh _God,_ maybe he’s read this all wrong. You’re not supposed to proposition your _best friend_ , it’s written in life’s rulebook. 

“You...you woulda said _yes_??” Stan chokes. 

“I, well, I-I, uh, I mean,” Jimmy stutters. Is this really happening right now? This can’t be happening right now. He must be wrong, Stan can’t _actually_ be saying what he thinks he is.

“Because, if you would have said yes--” Stan stutters at the same time Jimmy says, “I wouldn’t have said _no--”_

Both of them stop talking at the same time. The room is suddenly 15 degrees warmer. 

“I--” they both say at the same time, and then stop. 

“You first,” Jimmy says, and he can literally feel sweat gathering at his hairline. 

“I, Jimmy, well, I, uh, was going to, ask,” Stan says, and then completely stops. 

“Ask what,” Jimmy chokes out, though he already knows the answer. 

“Do you...do you want to--”

“Yes!” Jimmy blurts. And then, because he thinks it comes out too desperate, he clears his throat and tries again. “Yes,” he says, but it still comes out high and strangled. 

“Oh,” Stan says. Like he’s genuinely surprised. 

For a moment, neither of them say anything. They just stare at each other. There’s not really much to say following up a confession like that. All of the air in the room has been sucked out, and Jimmy’s chest is tight.

“So, um. Are we going to?...” Stan says hesitantly, “you know...do... _it?”_

“Right now????” Jimmy feels like his brain is on fire. The lights in the room suddenly feel so bright.

“I mean, only if you want to! I just, I mean, well, I--” Stan stutters, and they’re back on ground zero. 

Jimmy knows that Stan’s a virgin, which probably means that Jimmy should be the one taking the lead on this, and part of him feels guilty because he’s probably doing an awful job of it but the other part of him is still reeling that Stan wants to _lose his virginity to him._

“Okay, okay, okay," Jimmy says, breaths shaky because he can't believe it's _happening._ "Yeah, let’s do this,” Jimmy says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. Which seems to work, sort of, because Stan lets out a relieved sigh. 

“Okay,” Stan says enthusiastically, grinning, and his toothy smile makes something in Jimmy’s chest flutter. 

“So, um,” Jimmy says, and his heart’s pounding so hard in his chest he’d be worried there’s something wrong, if he didn’t know exactly what was causing it. 

“Jimmy, I...well, you know I don’t really...I’ve never really...I don’t know where to...start?” Stan says, blushed to the roots of his hairline, and Jimmy doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone so bashful. Over _him._ Over _Jimmy._ He can’t remember the last time he felt like this, like there was warm honey spreading through his limbs. 

“That’s okay, Stan! Really, it’s, uh. It’s no big deal. Let’s just...we can, um. Just start with some of the basic stuff, okay? We don’t have to move so fast,” Jimmy stutters. He’s not even sure _he’s_ ready to do much yet, because as long as he’s been wanting to jump Stan’s bones, he’s overwhelmed by everything that’s just happened in the past 10 minutes. He’s had plenty of sex leading up to this point in his life--the sex isn’t the issue. 

It’s the fact that Stan’s not just another casual fuck. Stan’s important _._ This is Stan, who saw him as more than just a piece of shit junkie when they first met. Who constantly makes sure Jimmy’s well-hydrated and well-fed.

Who, when he doesn’t think Jimmy’s looking, gazes at him so softly that Jimmy almost can't stand it. 

Jimmy wants to do this _right_. He has to.

“Let’s, um. Start with, w-with some kissing?” Jimmy says, and even saying that out loud feels intense. “Usually that’s kind of, you know. The first thing people do. Before they do anything else.” 

“S-sure,” Stan says. “Kissing. Yeah. I wanna do that.” 

“Me too,” Jimmy says quietly, and the words float in the space between them. It comes out sounding a lot like a confession. Jimmy clears his throat, trying to pass it off like it’s nothing. But judging by the delighted wonder on Stan’s face, he’s heard the weight behind the words too. 

They’re already sitting close to each other on the couch. The six inches of space between them contracts and expands. 

“Okay, so um. Just...um. C-close your eyes?” Jimmy croaks. He's suddenly glad that he hasn't smoked all day, so his mouth doesn't taste like an ashtray. It’s already dry with nerves. 

Stan closes his eyes. Jimmy takes off his sunglasses. And then, Jimmy takes a second to just _look_ at Stan. 

There are small wrinkles around Stan’s eyes, from age, but also laugh lines because Stan’s one of those unique individuals who smiles with his whole face. There's sun freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, and bits of silver mixed in with his blonde hair. He's older than Jimmy, but handsome in his own way. With a face that isn't rough and weathered, but isn't weak either. A face that has the capacity for kindness.

Jimmy feels himself _ache._

Jimmy leans forward until their lips are touching. Stan's lips are a little chilly from the cold water. Jimmy moves his trembling hand up to cup around Stan’s cheek. His skin is warm underneath Jimmy’s hand.

Jimmy closes his eyes. 

He catches Stan’s lower lip between his own and Stan gasps into the kiss. His mouth tastes cold, and a little sweet, for reasons unknown. For a moment Jimmy just pauses there, resisting the urge to go too fast, to slip his tongue in between Stan’s lips. After a moment, Jimmy feels Stan relax a little, breathe into the kiss. When his lips part further, Jimmy deepens the kiss, one hand coming up to tangle in Stan’s hair, the other roaming down Stan’s chest, surprisingly solid underneath his fingertips. He’s _warm_.

Jimmy loses himself in it--in the slow slide of their lips, the warmth of Stan’s mouth, the way Stan’s chest moves underneath his fingertips. He’s making little half-whimpers, not even aware he’s doing it, the sounds getting trapped in his throat.

Jimmy pulls back a little, breathing heavy, a little light-headed. It’s been so _long_ since he just kissed someone like this, slow and languid, without feeling the need to get on with it. He loves kissing, misses it, craves the feeling of being close to someone like this. Misses the warmth that’s blooming in his chest.

Jimmy opens his eyes and _holy hell,_ Stan’s looking at him too, face flushed red, lips cherry colored and parted slightly, pupils dark and bright with arousal. _Fuck._

This time it’s Stan who leans forward first, experimenting. He’s learning quickly. It makes sense now, considering every time Jimmy’s had to remind him to do small things (like buckle his _seat belt_ for god's sake), he’s remembered all of it, been able to copy it. 

When Stan carefully pushes his tongue into Jimmy’s mouth, Jimmy wraps his lips around it, flicks his own tongue against it, and the small whine Stan lets out goes straight to Jimmy’s dick. His pants suddenly feel a lot tighter than they did just a moment ago.

Jimmy breaks apart a moment later to just _breathe,_ and Stan chases him after, pressing a chaste closed-mouth kiss onto Jimmy’s lips, before leaning back. 

“Do you...do you wanna do more?” Jimmy gasps out, still trying to catch his breath. “We don’t, we don’t have to,” he adds on quickly though, because he could be happy with just kissing Stan for the rest of tonight and possibly the rest of his life. 

“More?” Stan echoes, dazed, so naïve and genuine that Jimmy wants to laugh, but holds in it, because he doesn’t want Stan to take it the wrong way. 

“Yeah, there’s uh...a lot more to sex, but we don’t have to do everything tonight,” Jimmy says, “or ever,” Jimmy iterates quickly. Because maybe this is as far as Stan wants to go, and that would be more than fine with Jimmy. He wants Stan in any way that Stan wants him, too.

“I...I wanna do more. But, I wanna keep doing this, too,” Stan says, nervous but excited, and it Jimmy’s stomach swoops. Because _Stan wants to keep kissing him_. Stan _wants_ him.

“Good! Okay. Um, maybe we can. Go into my room? Not that the couch isn’t comfy but, I-I. Feel like maybe it’ll. Be easier there,” Jimmy says. God, he sounds like _he’s_ the blushing virgin, even though he’s the one with more experience between the two of them. 

“Okay,” Stan chuckle, "whatever you say, Jimbo."

Few people have been in his apartment in general, and he can’t remember the last time someone was actually in his bed. Whenever he meets with clients, he meets them at motels, or meets them at their place. He doesn’t like having strangers in his space. 

But Stan isn’t a stranger.

Jimmy’s suddenly glad that he upgraded to a bigger bed a few months ago. 

“C’mon,” he says, standing up from the couch and offering a hand out to Stan. He leads them both into the bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

The blinds in his bedroom are drawn. It’s small, as far as bedrooms grow, and austere to the point of being spartan--Jimmy doesn’t like having too many things around. He’s had to pack his shit up and move one too many times for it to be useful to have purely decorative things. 

“Um, so,” Jimmy says, letting go of Stan’s hand so he can reach over and turn on the lamp next to his bed. He takes off his jacket, slings it against the bedpost. Suddenly all the confidence he’d felt just a second ago has evaporated--now that they’re in his bedroom, things feel starkly real. Not in a bad way, just intimidating. 

Jimmy knows, logically, all the things they could do to each other--he knows more about sex and pleasure than he’d like to admit. And he wants to do them _all_ with Stan--the thought sends a little shiver through him. But he’s not sure where to start, or what Stan wants. And that, above all else, is more important than whatever half-formed fantasies are in Jimmy’s head. 

“You can, um. Here. Sit here,” Jimmy says, patting the spot on the bed next to him. And Stan sits, close enough that Jimmy can feel his body heat. Jimmy feels like the core of his belly has turned into molten lava--they haven’t even _done_ anything yet. Like embers in a pit, just waiting to be stoked. He wants this, so bad.

“W-why don’t we um. We can, uh,” Jimmy stutters. _Get a grip._

“Can we...can we kiss again, Friendly? I liked that,” Stan says, so red in the face that he looks like he’s just run a mile. 

And like that, any lingering anxiety is gone. Because it’s Stan, and he’s _here_ , warm and excited and wanting, and Jimmy’s got nothing to be scared of. 

“Yeah,” Jimmy says, planting a hand on the center of Stan’s chest, gently pushing him to lie flat on the bed. Stan goes easy, hitting the mattress with a quiet “oof.” 

“Is...is this the part with--with, our hot dogs?” Stan says. 

It takes Jimmy a second to figure out why the fuck Stan’s talking about hot dogs, before he remembers the Brenda conversation, and then he can’t help it--he’s laughing, and Stan is too. 

“We’ll get there,” Jimmy says, gaining more confidence by the second. “Just, uh. Stop me, if you’ve got any questions, or if there’s something I’m doing that doesn’t feel good, ‘kay?” 

“Well I trust you, Jimmy,” Stan says, a goofy little grin on his face. 

Jimmy lets out a huff of laughter, feeling warmth bloom in his chest. “I trust you too, Stan.”

And Stan--spread out on Jimmy’s bed, blonde hair mussed, smiling--is something that Jimmy didn’t think he’d get to see if he lived a million years. 

Jimmy crawls up the bed so that he’s lying on his side, and Stan turns so that they’re face to face. 

“C’mere,” Jimmy murmurs, and then they’re kissing again, open-mouthed, hot, and _wet,_ Jimmy tangling his fingers in Stan’s hair, Stan pulling him closer, pressing their bodies together. 

Things fall into place naturally, like they were made to do this. Like instinct, even though Stan’s never done this before. Jimmy unclips Stan’s fanny pack so he can untuck Stan’s shirt, snake a hand under it to touch him, feel the heat of Stan’s bare skin under his palm. Stan groans into Jimmy’s mouth, unrestrained, and Jimmy drinks the noises in like wine. 

“Fuck,” Jimmy whispers against Stan’s lips, “Stan, can you touch me, I want you to--”

“Yes, yes, please,” Stan exclaims, eager, and Jimmy sits up then in a rush, pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere near the door. The chill of the air hits his bare skin, and for a moment, he feels utterly exposed--he knows, objectively, that he’s good looking enough for people to find him attractive. But it doesn’t matter that random people find him desirable; he could give a shit less about what they think. He cares about what _Stan_ thinks. 

In the dim of his room with Stan right there next to him, Jimmy’s suddenly more self-conscious than he’s ever been in his life. What will Stan think about the diagonal appendix scar above the jut of his hipbone? About the slight bump in his collarbone from a bone healed wrong? About the way his body is a roadmap of the hard life he’s lived over the past several years?

“Wow,” Stan whispers, reverent, like the words been pulled out of his mouth without him even knowing. And he’s staring up at Jimmy with--with _adoration_ , blue eyes wide and wondrous. Not in the hungry way Jimmy’s used to, but in the same way he does when Jimmy’s picked a particularly difficult lock. Like he’s amazing. 

It gives Jimmy the confidence to reach out and grab one of Stan’s large, warm hands and place it on Jimmy’s chest, right above his wildly beating heart. 

“I wanna...Jimmy, I want…” Stan says, looking eager and desperate and confused all in the same swell. And then he leans forward and _kisses_ the flat of Jimmy’s stomach. Jimmy shudders.

“Okay...okay, let’s just...l-let’s just. I’m just going to...to,” Jimmy clears his throat. “I wanna make you feel good, okay?” Jimmy says, and there’s a waver in his voice that’s purely from excitement and nerves. “I wanna...wanna taste you,” Jimmy says, blood rushing into his face, “I wanna put my mouth all over you.”

He’s said countless dirtier things to countless dirtier people, but he’s never meant any of it. Not until now. 

“Yeah...I...yeah,” Stan breathes. Jimmy surges forward to kiss him, open-mouthed, and move lower to his neck, to the small sliver of skin in Stan’s v-neck. 

“Can I?...” Jimmy says, tugging at the edge of Stan’s blue shirt. 

“Oh...sure, hah, yeah,” Stan says. He seems nervous, and it occurs to Jimmy that it might be the first time that Stan’s been naked in front of someone in this kind of setting--clearly, not with his ex-wife. 

“You don’t have to--” Jimmy says quickly, because he understands why Stan’s anxious about it, but then Stan shakes his head. 

“I want to. With you, Jimmy. I want _everything_ with you,” he says. The words send a rush through him.

Stan unbuttons the last two buttons of the collar on his shirt, and Jimmy sits up so he can help Stan tug his shirt off, dropping it to the floor.

Stan’s built solid, broad shouldered and barrel chested, thick arms corded with muscle from lifting cases of water day in and day out. He’s strong, but there’s a softness to him, in the way his stomach isn’t all hard lines like Jimmy’s, in the way there’s an ample amount of hair on his chest, soft and curly. 

“You’re...you’re so handsome, Stan,” Jimmy says softly, and it comes out almost too genuine, an admission of something Jimmy’s never said, but Jimmy’s becoming more and more okay with being this vulnerable around Stan. 

“I...I am??” Stan says, looking nervous. Like no one’s ever told him before. It breaks Jimmy’s heart a little. He wants Stan to know, to see what he sees. 

“Yes,” Jimmy murmurs, pressing a kiss onto Stan’s lips, moving down lower, sucking at the skin over his collarbone, not enough to leave a mark. 

“Yes…”

And then further, scraping his teeth gently over Stan’s sternum, tasting salt on his tongue from Stan’s sweat, then further, down his stomach…

“Yes…”

Stan’s breaths are coming in harsh now, the muscles in his stomach rising and falling underneath Jimmy’s hands. 

Very intentionally, Jimmy kisses along the trail of hair on Stan’s stomach, leading down, down, down...kisses right along his waistband. Jimmy flicks his eyes up to check that Stan’s still doing alright, and sees Stan looking back down at him, pupils dark and wide with lust. 

It's a good enough sign as any for Jimmy to keep going, kissing the button of Stan’s pants, mouthing over the zipper. Jimmy can feel the hard outline of Stan through his pants, and he puts his mouth there, sucking him lightly through the fabric, breathing hot against the hardness there. Stan lets out a wild _moan_ , hips bucking up out of instinct, and it's mind-meltingly hot. 

“Jimmy….oh...God…” Stan groans, hands twisted into the sheets. There's a thin sheen of sweat on his neck, and seeing Stan like this--quickly turning into a puddle of desire--makes Jimmy's dick throb in his pants.

“More?” Jimmy says, even though he's pretty he already knows what the answer is going to be. “C’mon, sunflower, I wanna hear you say it.” 

“Yeah,” Stan groans, “more…”

Jimmy pops the button on his pants and, glancing up at Stan, he holds his gaze while he drags the zipper of Stan’s pants down with his _teeth._

“Oh... _oh…”_ Stan chokes. 

Jimmy smirks up at him, taking Stan’s pants off the rest of the way and tossing them to join their shirts on the floor. 

Stan’s thighs are, to no surprise, _thick._ They're muscular, like a linebacker’s. And Stan’s wearing traditional-as-can-be tighty whiteys, and the whole situation is kind of short circuiting Jimmy’s brain. 

Oh, and--Jimmy can see Stan’s dick through his underwear. And it's...decidedly not three inches. 

“Um...Stan?” Jimmy says. Because he's not a size queen--he's really _not_ \--and he was going to be happy playing with whatever Stan had. Which he said was 3 inches. But. 

“Yeah Jimmy?” 

“You...remember when. You said your dick was three inches?” 

“I...is there...a problem?” Stan says, looking down, and he sounds so nervous, like Jimmy’s going to want him less. 

“No, no!!! No, not at all. It's just. That's...that's not three inches, is all,” Jimmy says. 

“I thought...I guess I measured it wrong,” Stan stutters. 

Jimmy blinks. _Oh._ So...Stan was. Measuring himself, pre-erection? 

“Right,” Jimmy says, coughing to hide his laughs.

“That's not...it's not a bad thing, is it?” Stan says. 

“No, no it isn't,” Jimmy says, still choking back his laughs. “Sorry I'm just uh. When you measured...you know what, nevermind. Just. Nevermind.” 

“What??” Stan says. 

“You've got...Stan, you’re, uh. Well, there’s showers, and growers, and everyone in between, but you’re definitely...you’re a grower,” Jimmy says, with as straight a face as he can manage. Which isn't very. 

“Oh,” Stan says. And then they both burst into laughter. 

“Here I was thinking I was just smaller than average and that's why I'm bad with the ladies--”

Jimmy snorts out another giggle and then leans down again, so he can lick a long stripe from the base of Stan’s clothed dick to the head. There's already a wet spot where the head is, and Jimmy realizes with a hot jolt that Stan’s already _leaking._

“Oh...oh hell,” Stan groans, between small puffs of laughter. There's a pink flush in his cheeks, spreading down onto his neck and chest. Jimmy wants to kiss that part too, turn him red all over, but first; he's got other things to tend to. 

Jimmy tugs at the waistband of his underwear; Stan gets the idea, helpfully lifting his hips up so Jimmy can take them off him and finally see him in all his naked glory. 

As far as dick’s go, Stan’s is pretty, and he's _dripping._

“Damn,” Jimmy whispers. He's never been so turned on in his goddamn life. He reaches down to grind the heel of his palm against his own erection, still trapped in his jeans, just to release some pressure. It’s starting to feel unbearably tight, but he’ll deal with it later. He's got more important things to do right now. 

“Jimmy?” 

“I'm gonna...gonna put my mouth on you, okay?” 

“On...on my dick??” 

“Yeah, is that...okay?” Jimmy asks. He's never gotten a _no_ to that question before, but he’s also never been with someone who’s a virgin before either.

“Yeah,” Stan says, eyes wide with wonder.

“You can, uh,” Jimmy grabs one of Stan’s big hands and guides him to thread his fingers through Jimmy’s hair. 

“You can keep your hand there. Just--just don't tug or pull,” Jimmy says, “unless you want me to stop.” He usually hates when people grab his hair, but he trusts Stan enough to know that he's not going to hurt him. 

“Okay,” Stan stutters, his big hand gentle on Jimmy’s head. 

Jimmy takes Stan’s dick in hand and gives him an experimental stroke from top to bottom, the callouses on his hands catching against dry skin. Stan’s breathing stutters, and that little noise gives Jimmy the courage to lean forward and take Stan into his mouth. 

It’s Stan’s first time, which means this probably isn't going to last long, but Jimmy finds himself wanting to draw things out, drag noises and groans out of Stan. 

Jimmy teases at the slit, swirling his tongue around the head, and then works himself down, slowly, the stretch and ache in his jaw familiar. He's careful to wrap his lips over his teeth, breathe through his nose when he bobs down, letting his spit run down Stan’s dick. 

Jimmy uses one of his hands to stroke what he hasn't fit into his mouth, using the other hand to gently press Stan’s hips down into the mattress. Pre-emptive--he can't fault Stan for bucking up, it's instinct--but he also doesn't want to be caught off guard. 

Jimmy pulls off to take a few quick, hasty breaths, before diving back down, breathing in deep through his nose, making an effort to relax, before pushing Stan’s dick further and further into his mouth on each downstroke, closing his eyes so he can concentrate on taking breaths in through his nose every time he bobs up. 

He’s so focused he doesn't even notice how far he’s gotten until _holy shit,_ his nose is almost touching the thatch of hair at the base of Stan’s dick. 

“Jimmy... _God..._ ” Stan is stuttering, and when Jimmy flicks his eyes up to look, he's treated with a _mess_ of a man. Stan looks _undone_ , blonde hair sweaty and wild, mouth dropped open wide, neck muscles bulging, brows furrowed in tension trying to keep his orgasm at bay. It's _hot_ and Jimmy almost comes in his pants. 

He pulls off quickly, because there's one more thing he wants to try before Stan comes. Because--Stan’s a man of a certain age, and though Jimmy’s happy to be proven wrong, he's not sure that Stan’s got more than one round in him, and he wants to make this one count. He wants to make this the best first time possible. 

Stan’s breathing like he's run a mile and so is Jimmy. Jimmy can only imagine what he must look like right now--lips swollen and red, face wet with spit and Stan’s pre-come—

“God, Jimmy….I wanna...I wanna kiss you,” Stan says. 

“Right...right now?” Jimmy pants, uncertainly, because he's just had Stan's dick in his mouth for the better part of ten minutes, and no one’s ever wanted to kiss him after him sucking their dick. 

“Yeah...if...if you want?” Stan says, like he's not sure if this is the right protocol for these types of things. It's unexpectedly the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to Jimmy. 

“Okay,” Jimmy says, helpless to keep the grin off his face as he crawls up the length of Stan’s body and kisses him. He keeps it chaste, just a press of lips, but Stan goes for it, worming his tongue into Jimmy’s mouth like he wants a taste of _himself_. Jimmy sighs into the kiss, letting Stan explore, letting him try things with his teeth and tongue that make Jimmy shiver. 

Jimmy pulls away after a moment, so he can lean over to reach the nightstand, but more importantly so he can catch his breath. He's light headed and breathing hard, and if Stan keeps kissing him like that, Jimmy’s in danger of just wanting to do that all night instead of anything else. But he's got ideas, and he wants to do at least one other thing before they call it a night. 

He pulls the nightstand drawer open, groping around blindly until his fingers find the thing he's looking for--a small tube of lube. 

“Is that...lotion?” Stan says breathlessly, curious. 

“Uh, sort of? It's lube,” Jimmy says, trying to think of the best way to describe it. He's not prude, but there's really no easy way to say _it makes putting things in holes easier._

“Like...like a car?” 

“Same concept but, uh. It...it goes inside you. To make things more slick, so it's not uncomfortable,” Jimmy says, cringing a bit. He's never been the best at describing these sorts of things, and there's no good related metaphor for this. He’s surprised Brenda didn’t cover it in their talk. 

“Like...mayonnaise?” 

“ _Mayonnaise??”_ Jimmy chokes. 

“Yeah...you know. Condiments,” Stan says, and there’s a sparkle in his eye that says maybe, just maybe, he’s doing this to tease Jimmy. 

“Sure...right. Mayo. But the condom part’ll come later,” Jimmy laughs a little. He grabs one of the pillows next to Stan’s head and eases his way back down until he’s sitting at the foot of the bed. 

“Lift your hips up?” Jimmy says, and Stan obligingly lifts his hips so Jimmy can slide the pillow underneath them. It’s been a while since he’s done what he’s about to do—most times Jimmy has sex, it’s a quick fuck, but this time it means something, and he wants to take his time. He’s not about to squander his chance to blow Stan’s mind. 

Jimmy moves to lay flat on his stomach, head between Stan’s thighs, hitching Stan’s ankles so that they’re draped over Jimmy’s shoulders. 

“What...what are you gonna do?” Stan says. 

_I’m going to finger-blast you until you’re screaming my name, until you can taste heaven on your tongue, until you’re addicted to the feeling of me playing with you, until you tell me you love me and mean it,_ is what Jimmy wants to say. But he doesn’t know how to say any of those things without overplaying his hand—without showing that he’s in too deep, that he feels something for Stan he’s never felt for anyone else. It’ll scare Stan away. So instead he says, “I’m...I’m gonna put my fingers in you, and blow you at the same time,” and he winces because it sounds pretty unsexy. 

“Oh...okay,” Stan says, and he doesn’t sound scared or nervous, he just sounds curious, and a little puzzled. 

“We don’t have to, but it, uh. It feels pretty good. When...when it’s done right,” Jimmy says, feeling his face heat up. He feels kinda stupid, because he’s doing a _terrible_ job at explaining things. The first time he had sex, it lasted an awkward 15 minutes in the back of a pickup truck and was, all in all, an underwhelming experience. He’s forgotten what it’s like to be naive and fresh to all of it. 

Jimmy’s happy that he’s the one that gets to show Stan how things should be. How things should _feel._ Lord knows Jimmy’s had enough awkward to terrible sexual experiences to last him a lifetime. 

“Yeah...I wanna try it,” Stan says, intrigued.

“If...it starts getting uncomfortable, let me know to stop. You can uh, just say so,” Jimmy says. 

“Okay,” Stan says, smiling. 

Jimmy smiles back. “Okay.” 

Stan’s boner has flagged a little in the interim, but when Jimmy gets his mouth back on him, it doesn’t take long before Stan’s fully hard again, squirming, making pretty little choked off groans. 

Jimmy grabs for the tube of lube, popping the cap, squeezing an ample amount onto his shaking fingers. And at the same time Jimmy puts his mouth around Stan again, he rubs at Stan’s hole, not pushing a finger in yet, just stroking his fingers over the delicate puckered skin, getting him used to the feeling. Stan twitches, but otherwise keeps moaning, hips moving in small tiny upward thrusts. 

Jimmy squeezes some more lube onto his fingers—god, they’re going to make a _mess_ —and this time, gently pushes a finger into Stan. 

“Fuck,” Stan moans, hips thrusting out of instinct, and it’s so unexpected that Jimmy gags. 

“Fuck!” Stan says, immediately tensing, “Jimmy are you okay??” 

Jimmy pulls his mouth off Stan’s dick, reflex tears in his eyes, but he’s not in pain—he’s laughing. 

“Yeah,” Jimmy rasps, and _fuck_ , his voice is all messed up, throaty and gravelly from sucking dick, “yeah, you can, uh. You can fuck my mouth, just not too hard,” Jimmy laughs. “Don’t worry about the—about the gagging, it happens sometimes, but I’m not gonna get sick on you or anything,” Jimmy says. Because he’s a pro at this, and seeing Stan lose control like that is more than just a little hot. 

He gets back to work, focusing on sucking Stan’s dick, working a finger inside of him at the same time, crooking it until he manages to find just the right angle to make Stan thrust up into his mouth, take his pleasure. Stan’s so warm inside, and soft too, like velvet; Jimmy can feel every movement, every single time Stan clenches around his finger. 

Jimmy doesn't want to overwhelm Stan and end this too soon--the most satisfying climaxes are the ones that build up. He wants Stan to _want_ it, to _ache_ for it, so Jimmy pulls out a few other tricks; he pulls his mouth off Stan’s dick and moves lower so he can suck one of Stan’s balls into his mouth. He's rewarded with Stan groaning, so loud Jimmy can feel the sound vibrate in his own chest, a noise that starts in Stan’s chest and ends in Jimmy’s mouth.

Jimmy slows things down when he gets his mouth back on Stan’s dick, letting things melt into a slow, lazy drag. Like they've got all day and night to do this. 

After a few moments, Jimmy adds more lube and then pushes in a second finger, going a little faster now. The sounds his mouth are making are obscene, wet and slick—he loves the way it makes Stan moan. He can sense Stan’s body tightening up underneath him, unable to hold on for much longer. 

Stan’s toes are curled where they’re resting on Jimmy’s back, and the noises he’s making sound like they’re being plucked out of him like harp strings. Half-formed whimpers of “Jimmy” and “yes” and “more” tumbling together into nonsense. He’s coming undone right in front of Jimmy— _because of—_ Jimmy, and Jimmy can feel tightness in his own groin. 

“Fuck, Jimmy, I’m gonna—I’m—“ Stan gasps, and it’s all the warning Jimmy needs to press his fingers _hard_ into that spot inside Stan, at the same time that he hollows his cheeks and sucks. 

He glances up, just in time to see the beautiful sight of Stan coming, face contorted with pleasure. His eyes squeezed shut in rapture, mouth dropped into an ‘o’, tendons in his neck standing out against the skin.

Jimmy eases up on the pressure of his fingers as Stan’s body shakes in aftershocks, thighs trembling from the force of his orgasm. 

Jimmy swallows what's in his mouth and pulls off, panting hard, carefully taking his fingers out of Stan’s body and wiping the excess lube on the sheets. 

Stan’s gasping for air, chest and stomach rising up and down as he shudders and shivers, pleasure like electricity zinging through his nerves. 

“Jimmy,” is the first thing Stan’s able to say when he’s finally caught his breath, and from between the v of Stan’s legs, Jimmy grins. 

“Not so bad, huh?” 

Stan’s too speechless to say anything, so he beckons Jimmy with a trembling hand, until Jimmy gets the message and crawls up the length of Stan’s body. 

Stan kisses him, open mouthed and sloppy. It’s a little gross, because Jimmy’s face is still wet from—from everything that just happened—but neither of them care enough to stop. 

After a while, after both of them have caught their breaths, after their kisses have slowed into something tranquil instead of crashing, Stan blinks at Jimmy. 

“...what about you?” Stan says. 

Jimmy stares at him. “Hm?” 

“You…” Stan stares pointedly down at Jimmy’s still-clothed crotch. “You're still…” 

“Oh,” Jimmy huffs a laugh. He's been so focused on Stan that he’s kind of forgotten, though now that Stan’s pointed it out, he realizes that he’s still _achingly_ hard. 

“We...we don't have to do any more tonight if you don't want to,” Jimmy says. Because this was Stan’s first time and Jimmy doesn't want to take any attention away from that, but Stan’s looking at him with--with an expression that looks awfully _tender._ Jimmy feels the pit of his stomach melt into something bright and lovely. 

“I want to, Jimmy. I wanna...wanna make you feel good, too,” Stan says, earnestly in that way of his when he's serious about something. Genuine to the point of it feeling like some kind of elaborate lie, but Jimmy knows that it's just the way Stan is. Painfully honest. 

“Okay,” Jimmy says. “Um. You could...you could touch me. Or...or you could fuck me? Or…” 

“What do you want to do?” Stan asks.

Jimmy can’t remember the last time someone asked him what _he_ wants. And now that the options are there, he's not sure. He wants it _all,_ but of course they're going to need more than just one night to do all the things he wants. 

The thought that they might get to do this again--and _again_ \--is almost too much to consider. That there might be a _next time._ The possibility of something more, something in the future, something _permanent._ Something to look forward to. 

“You...you wanna fuck me?” Jimmy says, the words sticking to his tongue like molasses. 

“I...I don't think. I think it might take some time for me, but. But what if you...what if you uh. Instead of your fingers...if you…if you were in me?” Stan stutters out. 

Jimmy gets what he's trying to say. He really does, but that’s... _a lot._

“Stan….that's. That's so sweet, but I don't think you're ready for it. I...it’s something you have to work up to, and I don't wanna...I don't wanna hurt you,” Jimmy says, feeling his heart twist itself in his chest when Stan’s face falls a little. 

Jimmy quickly swoops down to give Stan a quick kiss on the lips before pulling back to explain. “It's your first time. And usually, you uh. Kinda wanna get used to being...to fingers first, and it takes a while to get to the point where having something bigger inside doesn't feel bad.” 

Stan blinks at him then, a thoughtful look, laced with determination on his face. “Okay. So why don't you get me used to it, and then, and then you can be inside me.” 

Jimmy blinks. “Right now?” 

“Yeah. I want to. I want you to...to make love to me, Jimmy.” 

And it's said so simply, like it's the easiest thing in the world, the most matter of fact thing, that Jimmy feels a weight settle in his stomach, push its way up into his throat and sit there, like a balloon filled with lead. Crying in front of Stan right now would be the most embarrassing thing in the world. 

Jimmy cries. 

“Jimmy!” Stan startles when Jimmy gasps in a breath, vision swimming with unshed tears. “What's...is everything--”

“No I'm,” Jimmy chokes, swiping at the single traitorous tear that somehow managed to slip past his iron will to control his emotions. How does he tell Stan that nobody's ever asked to _make love_ instead of _fuck_ before? It's such an old fashioned sentiment. Something meant for lovers, for partners, for _forevers._

Maybe that's what they are. 

Jimmy smiles, biting his lip. No more tears, luckily, but the feeling’s still there. Like his heart is throwing an anchor out to sea, a weight that settles down, down, down to the sand, keeping him moored. 

“I'm...I'm so...I'm just...you...sometimes the things you say, Stan..." Jimmy says, the words wobbly and trembly as he swallows down the lump in his throat. 

“Does...that mean we can try?” Stan asks with a shy smile, reaching a hand up to swipe away an errant tear.

“Yes. But you _have_ to say stop if you don't feel comfortable. Even just a little, ‘kay?” Jimmy says very seriously.

Stan nods solemnly. 

“Okay,” Jimmy whispers, leaning down to kiss Stan. 

They kiss until one kiss melts into the next, until Jimmy’s dizzy with it, arousal gathering tight in his abdomen again. He pulls away from Stan so he can undo his pants, pull his underwear down with it, and chuck them off to the side. 

He fumbles for Stan’s hand, finds it, and guides it to his dick. Wrapping Stan’s hand around him, his own hand on top, guiding them to stroke. His hand’s still slick with lube, and coupled with his pre-come, the glide feels amazing. Each drag of their joined hands like sparks along his spine. 

Jimmy grabs blindly for the lube again and pushes two fingers into Stan, slowly pumping them in and out to get him used to the feeling. He’s looser now, soft-limbed and relaxed from his orgasm; when Jimmy adds a third finger, the ring of muscle inside Stan gives way a little easier. 

Jimmy kisses Stan, who’s shuddering and shivering underneath him, still sensitive, his body twitching with sensation. He’s half-hard again already, incredibly, though it’s going to take a little bit of time before he’s fully hard again. 

“Too much?” 

“No, it's good,” Stan says breathlessly. He’s moving his hips in time with Jimmy’s fingers, biting down on his kiss-wet lips. And Jimmy almost can’t bear to watch, because seeing him move like that is unbelievably hot. 

“I’m...Jimmy, _more_...” Stan’s gasping. 

Jimmy pulls his fingers out and grabs for a condom in the nightstand, because if he waits any longer than this, this is all going to end too soon. 

“The part you’ve been waiting for--the condom,” Jimmy says, jokingly, and Stan snorts, but watches as Jimmy rolls it onto himself. 

“Wow...looks a lot better than you than on a hot dog,” Stan chuckles.

“Thanks, bud” Jimmy says. 

They laugh--Jimmy leans down to kiss him, and he can _feel_ Stan’s smile against his own.

Jimmy squeezes more lube into his hand--at this point, he’s going to turn the bed into a slip n’ slide--and lines himself up but doesn’t push in quite yet, just resting the tip of himself against Stan. He stares down at Stan, who’s looking right back up at him. It’s almost too intense, this eye-contact. He’s not the one about to open his body, but he feels like everything in him has been pulled out, laid right there on the bed for Stan to see. 

“C’mon,” Stan murmurs, “I want you to.” 

“Okay,” Jimmy whispers, and pushes in, just the head. Stan’s tight around him--and _hot_ \--and Jimmy’s arms are shaking with the effort of keeping himself here, letting Stan adjust. The weight of it is different than just fingers, and Jimmy can see both pleasure and discomfort warring for dominance on Stan’s face. 

“Push...like you’re trying to push me out,” Jimmy says, and Stan’s confused but he does it, and it has the effect of opening himself up enough for Jimmy to push halfway in. Stan’s breathing heavy like all the air’s been knocked out of him, chest heaving with his gasps, and Jimmy leans down to kiss him. 

“Good?” Jimmy asks. 

“Yeah, Jimmy, I’m good,” Stan says, breathless.

Jimmy starts to rock, slow, not even moving much, just swaying their bodies together; the drag of it is unbearably good. He adds more lube, knowing it’s overkill probably, but wanting things to stay slick and easy. Every tiny movement that Stan makes, even just breathing, Jimmy can feel. He’s on top of Stan, _inside_ of Stan, and Stan's fascinated, eyes glued to where he ends and Jimmy begins, joined together. Almost as a reflex, Jimmy reaches out and searches for Stan’s hand, lacing their fingers together on top of the sheets. Stan’s grip warm and solid in his. He doesn't want to let go. 

He goes to kiss the rest of Stan’s breath out of his mouth, and stays there, both of them breathing in the same air, lips touching. Jimmy’s head is buzzing with pleasure, and it’s taking every last bit of willpower he has to not move faster or slower, because if he changes anything right now it’ll be too much. There’s galaxies being born in the spaces between their skin--Jimmy thinks he might come apart with all that trapped energy. 

At some point, Stan begins to meet Jimmy’s rocking thrusts, and they move together, settling into a slow rhythm that feels right. “You feel so good, Jimmy,” Stan groans, and Jimmy kisses his name off Stan’s lips. 

There’s nothing in his mind except _Stan_ , and nothing in his body except warmth, and light, the heat of it building tight in his gut. He's close; he's been close all night. He can feel it cresting in him like a wave. He's saying nonsense things, things that start with curses, gasps that end with "Stan". And they're kissing, sloppy and wet; one of Stan's hands is roaming, leaving trails of heat wherever he touches, wherever he caresses, his other hand still clasped tight in Jimmy's. Jimmy wants it all, wants to lick the sweat off Stan's skin, wants to kiss the furrow between his brows. Wants to lose himself forever in the feeling of Stan, skin hungry for contact. 

Jimmy starts to thrust harder, moving his hips in faster strokes, the sound of wet skin on skin covered up in Stan's groans. 

He notices, errantly, that Stan’s hard again, and he reaches down to stroke Stan in counter with his thrusts—Stan clenches, and the pressure, the way Stan’s body pulls him in—it’s too much. It's too good. The way Stan's body takes him in, grips him so tightly, the way he contracts around him, like he wants more of Jimmy in him--all of it hurtles Jimmy towards the edge. The corners of his vision narrow in.

And he feels something unfurl in him, rush through him. 

“Stan,” Jimmy gasps into his mouth, at the same time Stan moans his name, and then everything goes white. 

\---

Stan’s body is soft and warm underneath his. Jimmy’s shuddering, every part of him tingling, every nerve in his body singing with pleasure. And Stan—

—Stan looks utterly fucked out, eyes half-lidded and dazed, post-orgasm. Hair glued to his forehead with sweat, the sheets dark with their sweat. 

Stan’s come on both their stomachs. All the pillows on the bed flung to the floor. 

Usually this is the part that Jimmy tries to avoid—the cuddling, the quiet breaths, the soft after glow. The moments where everything feels tender and honest, and he feels too vulnerable to let someone see him like this. Undone. 

But this time, he’s staying. He can’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be. 

Slowly, he pulls out of Stan, and both of them wince a little at the feeling of it. Jimmy ties the condom off and tosses it in the vicinity of the garbage can in the corner of his room. He’s boneless and weightless, and right now all he can think about is falling asleep with Stan next to him.

Jimmy cuddles into Stan, who blinks at him, dazed. It reminds Jimmy of an owl and he laughs a little, kissing him lightly. 

“So. How’s it feel to be a virgin-no-more?” Jimmy says quietly. But of course it’s more than that. But how does he say _I love you, impossibly_ without sounding trite? How does he say _I want everything with you. I want nothing but you_ , without having Stan give him that quizzical, curious look he wears so often around Jimmy? 

“It feels...well, it feels like I might love you, sunshine,” Stan murmurs, smiling, and Jimmy feels like he’s been wrapped in a blanket, warmth rushing through his veins, spreading out from the center of him like honey. Leave it to Stan to say exactly what’s on his mind, filterless, and as always, blisteringly honest. And it makes Jimmy feel fearless, too.

“I love you too, Stan,” Jimmy whispers. He's never said those words aloud before. But now that he has, he wants to say it more. 

And in the dark, Jimmy seeks out Stan’s lips, kisses him. And Stan kisses back, slow, steady. 

Jimmy feels that anchor weight settle into him again, fearless of crashing waves. Stan’s arms a warm embrace around him.

And after so long adrift, it feels like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things: 
> 
> \--Shoutout to the folks who spoiled me with reassuring comments, encouraging words, and kind support. You guys helped me get this to the finish line. Thanks for listening to me complain about writing this fic for weeks (months!). I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> \--An earlier draft of this was much sadder and angstier. But, reading through it, it didn’t feel right. Tonally, it felt wrong for the fic to go from jovial to sad. I wanted to keep it relatively light throughout. So I’m happy with this final version. Even though there’s still a sprinkle of angst in there. Jimmy and Stan deserve to be happy. 
> 
> \--Thank you for reading, and thanks for being a part of this teeny tiny fandom. <3


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